Axel.
“Where are our weapons?” I asked.
“I have looked about,” he said. “I have been unable to locate them in the camp. I suspect, thus, they are concealed outside the camp, to be retrieved when we depart.”
“Donna is watering the slaves,” I said.
“Please, Mistress,” begged Tuza, “food!”
“That is up to the masters,” said Donna.
“It would be well for the slaves to be fed,” said Axel, “lest they lag on the trail, or faint.”
“There is always the whip,” I said.
“Even so,” he said.
I looked about the camp. Some men were attending to the site. Boughs which had formed bedding were discarded. The fire was being covered with care. Some leaves and branches were being scattered about. There would be little evidence, particularly to an untrained eye, that men had camped here. Elsewhere, bundles were being closed and corded, which would presumably be borne by slaves.
“Dear guests,” said Aeson, approaching us, carrying two small, black, metal pails. “We will soon march. We would the slaves were fed.”
“We are free men,” said Axel, sharply.
“So are we,” said Aeson, evenly.
“Masters often feed slaves,” I said. “It is one of the pleasures of the mastery, and helps the slaves, as other animals, to be clearly aware of their dependence on the master, even for their food.”
I took the two small pails from Aeson, and handed one to Axel. Aeson then turned away.
“Why did you do this?” asked Axel.
“I think it is a test,” I said. “Are we to be troublesome, or accommodating?”
“I see,” said Axel. “They will be less on their guard.”
“One might hope so,” I said. To be sure, I was not optimistic in the matter. Besides, I thought it might be useful, in a way, to assay the responses of a slave. Also, I thought it might be interesting, to have her before me, obedient, kneeling, in her collar. Certainly she was a long way, now, from the aisle of a large emporium on a far world, in her strange garments, where she had not even had enough sense to kneel.
“You feed the four, not yet collared,” I said. “I will feed the others.”
“I thought so,” said Axel.
I supposed his remark was motivated by the fact that it would take longer to feed four than three, particularly when the four had their hands tied behind their back. Thus they might try to get their face into the pail, as might a tarsk, or, more likely, given the size of the pail, be fed by hand, a cupped-hand of slave pellets being poured into the up-turned mouths. What other consideration might have motivated Axel’s remark, to the effect that he had anticipated this division of the task?
Tula, Mila, and the other slave, here called Vulo, were kneeling, waiting. Doubtless they, too, as the other slaves, were hungry. One of them did not look too pleased. This pleased me. Let her try now, if she would, to avoid me. Here she was called Vulo. It was my understanding that she had been given the name ‘Laura’, either in Tarncamp or Shipcamp, presumably Tarncamp, perhaps named for the town on the Laurius, to the south, though, as I also understood it, that was a familiar barbarian female name, which might be bestowed on any barbarian slave, or, even, if one wished, on any slave, even a Gorean slave, if one wished to let her know how meaningless and unimportant she was. In any event, the name ‘Laura’ had been given to the barbarian, and it was the only name she had, a name given her at the pleasure of masters, a slave name.
“May I feed myself?” inquired Tula.
“Certainly,” I said.
“Thank you, Master,” she said, and dipped her two hands into the small pail.
“May I feed myself?” inquired Mila.
“Yes,” I said.
“Thank you, Master,” she said, and, putting two hands into the pail, carefully drew out two handfuls of the pellets.
I did not doubt but what the slaves were hungry.
“May I feed myself?” inquired she called Vulo, acidly.
I looked down upon her, kneeling before me, she looking up, in the slight tunic, and collar, and she knew herself scrutinized, as a slave is scrutinized.
“May I feed myself?” she repeated, as before.
“No,” I said.
Tula and Mila gasped, and then smiled, feeding.
“Shall I cast a handful of pellets on the ground for you,” I asked, “and then you may, head down, not using your hands, feed?”
“Please do not,” she said.
“Perhaps you would prefer to be fed by hand?” I asked.
“I am very hungry,” she said.
“Would you prefer to be fed by